How We Got Here
by Jaden Silver
Summary: We all know why we were in Blood Gulch. Project Freelancer had answered that question. Still, sometimes it was hard to remember how we'd gotten there in the first place.
1. Simmons

**This is my contribution to RT's Community Day. Enjoy!**

* * *

Richard Simmons stared at the recruitment tent, warring internally with himself. A small, logical, and extremely terrified part of his brain was telling that this was a _bad idea_. He was not cut out to be a soldier. Joining the army would not fix any of his problems. This could only possibly lead to him dying on some unnamed planet light-years from home. It wouldn't make his father respect him any more.

Still, another part of his brain helpfully supplied, it's not like it could make things worse. He'd already been kicked out. Not officially, of course, but dad had made it pretty clear that he didn't want Simmons hanging around anymore. Simmons dad just didn't understand. He didn't want to stay in school because he was afraid of the "real world". Far from it. AI theory just took a long time to learn. Once he was done with school, though, he could help the UNSC in ways he never could as a regular soldier.

He'd thought his dad would be proud of him when he got accepted into that program. Finally, all the work, all the years in college were paying off. He was going to do it. He was going to learn how to make AIs. His dad hadn't been proud, however. He hadn't been happy about Simmons' accomplishment. All he'd heard was eight more years of school. It had been the final straw. He'd told Simmons that if he didn't cut the nonsense and get a real job, he'd be out on his own.

So now, here he stood, staring at a UNSC recruitment tent, hoping he wouldn't throw up from how nervous he was. He told himself he was doing this because he cared about humanity, and that he wanted to help fight. He knew the truth, though. His father had never cared about anything beside the war. He'd grown up hearing about the battles his father had fought and the second and third hand accounts from his great grandfather who had fought in the first battles against the Covenant. He knew his dad had secretly hoped he'd join the army some day.

Richard Simmons sighed. He knew he was doing this for the wrong reasons. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew it wouldn't change things between himself and his father. Still, he'd made his decision. He was going to stick with it.


	2. Caboose

Theresa Caboose stared at the envelope in her hand, then began running through the house. "Michael!" she called, trying to find where her brother was hidden in the large house. "Come on, Mikey! You have a letter!"

Becca stepped up and snatched the envelope from her little sister's hand. "Michael got a letter?" she asked. This wasn't normal. Most people who knew her older brother enough to bother writing to him also knew that he wasn't exactly the best reader. Her face paled when she looked down and saw the insignia on the envelope.

"It has a birdie on it!" Theresa chirped happily.

"Yes, it does," Becca said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Do you know if mom and dad are home?" she asked the younger girl.

"Dad's at work, and mom's at her baking club," Theresa answered.

Becca nodded again. "Would you go get Brit and Ashley?" she asked. "Tell them I- tell the there's something important we need to talk about."

"Should I get Mikey too?"

"No," Becca said, glancing down at the envelope again. She glowered at the UNSC insignia in the upper left hand corner, hating the eagle and the acronym and, most of all, the words 'draft office' written under it. "We- we need to talk about this before we try to explain it to him."


	3. Grif

Dexter Grif stared at the pile of mail he was sorting through, pretending he didn't notice the many bills as he dumped ads in the trash. Then, something caught his eye. This didn't look like the usual bills and junk mail. He froze when he recognized the insignia on the envelope, his bored expression quickly morphing into a glare.

Of course, he'd been expecting this for a while now, ever since he'd turned eighteen. He'd known it was only a small chance, the yearly draft wasn't that big, but he also knew he had historically shitty luck. So no, Dexter Grif wasn't surprised to see his draft notice in the mail. What he was, was angry.

It just wasn't fair. Hadn't he already been through enough shit in his life? His mom left when he was fourteen, still practically a kid. He'd never even heard of his dad. He'd been stuck raising his younger sister, and although he'd never complained or shown her in any way that he wasn't happy with it, it hadn't been easy. Now, to top it all off, after he'd worked through all the tough years and gotten to a place of semi-stability, this. The fucking army was drafting him to fight in some fucking war that he didn't even care about. Yeah, okay, so we don't get along with these alien dudes and they want to kill us all, big deal. What did that have to do with him?

Grif sighed as he sunk into the worn sofa. What was he going to tell Sister? He knew this would crush her. She was tough, sure. She'd always been a strong kid. But this was her biggest fear. She was going to be left alone.

He remembered those first few weeks after their mom left. The note had still been pinned to the fridge and the frozen and packaged food had just run out. Grif had realized at that point that she wasn't coming back. He needed to do something if he wanted to keep himself and Sister together. So, he'd dropped out of school and decided to get a job. Sister hadn't taken the news well.

"Don't go," the ten year old girl had whined as she clung to his arm. "Please. Please don't go."

"I have to," Grif had said, peeling her fingers off his wrist. "We need money."

"No, we don't," she'd insisted, tightening her hold. "You're smart. You can figure something else out. You don't have to go."

"Kai, I can't earn a living by sitting around on a couch all day." He'd finally detached her hands from his arm and stepped out of her reach. "It's only part time, anyway. I'll be home before you get back from school." He'd hoped the news would calm her down, but she was still pouting up at him and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "Why does this freak you out so much?" he'd asked.

"I don't want you to go," she'd said, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. "If- if you go to work, then you might decide that you like work better than me and then you might not come back." Sister hadn't met his eyes the whole time she'd spoken.

Grif had knelt in front of his sister and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not mom," he'd said. "I'll come back, I promise."

"Mom said she'd come back too," Sister had whispered.

Grif had pulled her into a hug as he spoke. "I'm not her," he'd repeated. "I swear, I will come back. I won't abandon you."

Sister had managed to calm down after that and let him leave, although she'd still nearly tackled him with her hug when he got home. She'd been so relieved to see him that he hadn't had the heart to scold her for skipping school. It had taken a while, but she'd eventually gotten over her fear that he'd leave and not come back. She still didn't like when he stayed away for too long, even now, but she could cope.

Grif just didn't know if she could handle this. He would actually be leaving. Not just for a few days, either. He could be gone for years. And there was a chance that he wouldn't come back. He could die out there, on some distant planet, and she'd be left all alone.

Grif growled and threw the envelope. Instead of flying across the room and hitting a wall, like he'd hoped, it gently floated to the floor. Grif just sat there and glared at it. It wasn't fucking fair.


	4. Donut

Franklin Donut stared at the clock beside his bed, watching the seconds tick by. 3, 2, 1. There it was. Just like that, he was 18. He fought back the squeal of excitement. 18 meant so many things, so many possibilities. But, above all else, it meant he was finally old enough to join the army.

Donut had dreamed of joining the army for a long time. Ever since he was a little kid, he'd wanted to help people. At first he'd thought he might become a doctor, but then he took middle school biology and decided it was a bad idea. If he couldn't deal with cutting up a frog, he probably couldn't deal with sick people, either. Then, as he'd grown older, he'd heard more and more about the war.

Donut lived on a small farm on earth, and the war didn't really affect him much growing up. It was one of those things that you heard about, but it was always just sort of _out there_. It was hard to think about it like it was actually real. As he'd gotten older, however, he'd started to take it more seriously. It was during his first year of high school that he first decided to join the army. Some old veteran who'd been injured during the first Covenant attack had come to school to give a speech. He'd told the students about how the aliens were ruthless killers who wouldn't stop until they'd wiped out all humanity, and how it was our responsibility to stop them. Donut hadn't been sure about the whole killing part, but it had sounded like a good way to help people. Ending the war would certainly make life better for anyone on the colony worlds.

Of course, he also had to admit, if only to himself, that part of the reasoning lay in a few movies he'd seen. Movies about brave, handsome soldiers, and the comradeship they shared. Plus, if he worked hard, he could get rated for armor. Then, he'd almost be like a super hero, or a secret agent spy.

Yes, Donut had made his decision a long time ago. The army definitely seemed like the choice for him. And now, he was finally old enough to join.


	5. Leonard Church

Leonard Church stared at the holo-pad, rereading the letter for the thousandth time. He just couldn't believe it. He'd read the words so many times, but it was like he couldn't make sense of them. It just couldn't be possible.

A big, satisfied smile spread across his lips. "Yes," he whispered. He repeated it again, louder, almost shouting the word in his excitement.

A woman stepped into the room, blond hair pulled back into a tight bun and military fatigues slung low on her hips. "What's got you so excited?" she asked.

Leonard's smile widened even further as he looked up at her. "You, Allison, are no longer the only one in this apartment who works for the UNSC," he said proudly.

The woman stepped around behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning over his shoulder to see the holo-pad. "What's going on now?"

"The Samson Initiative, the program that the UNSC is starting to find better ways to fight aliens," he started, reaching back a hand to share the hug as he explained. "They accepted my thesis on AI theory. They're going to fund my project."

"That's good," she said, voice pitching higher at the end to make it sound almost like a question.

"It's very good," Leonard agreed. "It's great, a dream come true."

Allison kissed his cheek gently. "Good," she said, a trace of uncertainty in her voice.

Leonard turned in his chair to look at her. "Is something wrong?" For the first time he noticed the way she was dressed. He looked to the door and saw her duffel bag leaned up against the wall. "You're leaving," he finally realized.

"Ship out tomorrow," she confirmed.

"Off planet?"

Allison nodded, still close enough that the motion caused her hair to brush against his cheek. "I have to report to base in an hour."

"You have to?" he asked. He brushed his fingertips across her cheek as his eyes met hers.

"Yes," Allison said. She backed up a few steps and faced him with her hands on her hips. "And don't you dare make me late."

Leonard's hand hovered in the air for a moment, marking where she'd been. He stared at it before standing up. "I- I won't make you late," he promised. "I'll be working for the UNSC now, so I'll probably see you around."

"Yeah," Allison said unconvincingly. "We'll see each other around."

Leonard grabbed her hand gently. "And, you know, eventually I'll need some elite soldiers to work with." He smiled as he added, "I already have one in mind." He leaned forward to kiss her, but he stepped back.

"No, Leonard. I have to go."

"Of course." Leonard smiled and lifted up the holo-pad in his hand, pressing a button to activate the camera. "Just a quick goodbye before you go." He smiled as he said the words, knowing they'd do better to delay her than any kiss. Allison could never resist giving him that speech about goodbyes.


	6. ChurchAlpha

**My plan for these is to make one for each of the Blood Gulch boys. (Yes, that's what I call them.) I won't make one for Tex, since we know how and why she shows up in the gulch. I probably won't make one for Sister, just because I don't consider her a part of the original crew. (Also, I can't write her personality worth dirt, but we'll overlook that little fact.) It might be a while before I do some of the others, just because I have trouble with the different characters. I'm not good at Tucker, Sarge is the bane of my existence, and I don't even know where to start with Doc. Still, I will finish those eventually. In the mean time, here's Church again!**

* * *

Church stared at his hands. Well, not his hands, exactly. They were really just gloves. Still, he supposed he'd have to get used to them. They were the most he was gonna be seeing for a while, with the new experimental armor and all.

"So, can never take it off?" Church directed the question to the man known as Captain Flowers, who was sitting beside him in the pelican.

"That's right," Flowers said, nodding. "It's a new prototype. You're the first test subject."

Church couldn't remember how that had come to be, exactly. Something about a document he'd signed years ago, and something hidden in the fine print, or so Flowers had told him. All he knew was that he was now stuck in a suit of armor that he apparently wasn't allowed to remove.

"How will I eat?" Church asked. He didn't want to voice his concerns about other bodily functions, and hoped it would all be answered with this.

"No need to," Flowers said, sounding a little too cheerful for Church's comfort. "The suit will take care of that. It, uh, extract nutrients from the air to supply your body with everything it needs."

"Won't I still feel hungry?" Church asked. He didn't like the sound of feeling hungry and not being able to eat for the next few years.

"Maybe at first," Flowers said. "But it'll mostly be psychological. Eventually your body will get used to it, and the hunger mechanism will shut off. Don't worry," he added, clapping a hand on younger soldier's shoulder. "The suit was designed to take care of you. You'll be fine."

Church assumed the hand on his shoulder was meant to be comforting. It wasn't. The fact that he could barely feel it, along with the rather odd man the gesture came from, just served to make it weird. He shrugged the hand off before turning away. "Fucking army," he whispered, too quiet for the other man to hear his disdain.

"So, are you here to keep an eye on me, or something?" Church asked.

Flowers' head whipped around to face him. Although Church couldn't see his face, the speed of the movement made him think the man was surprised. "Why do you think that?"

Church shrugged. "You seem to know a lot about this armor I'm stuck in. If it's as experimental as you say, then I'd assume someone who knows how it works would be assigned to monitor it, make sure it's working."

There was a pause, just long enough for Church to think it was awkward. "That's absolutely right," Flowers said. "You're a smart man, Church."

The two lapsed into silence once again. Church just couldn't believe it. Not only was he going to be stuck in this armor, but he was also going to be stuck with this guy. Church couldn't help but think that there was something… off about Captain Butch Flowers. He wasn't looking forward to living alone with him for the rest of the war.

"Hey, uh, Captain Flowers?" Church broke the silence after a few moments.

"Please, there's no need to be so formal," Flowers said happily. "You can just call me Flowers, or Butch, if you prefer."

Church barely considered the options before shaking his head dismissively. "Yeah, I think I'd just rather call you Captain," he said.

"If you insist," Flowers said, "but at least call me Cappy instead."

"Listen, just…" Church broke off the sentence with a sigh. He wanted more than anything to be able to take his helmet off right now. He wanted to not hear his own voice filtered and played back to him through speakers and he wanted to breathe without smelling plastic and metal and rubber. "Look, do you know if anyone else is going to be stationed where we're heading?" he eventually asked.

"There's supposed to be one other soldier," Flowers answered. "Private Tucker. But he won't get there until a few days after us."

Church nodded. If he had any luck at all, this Tucker guy would be less annoying and way less weird than his Captain. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"A little place called Blood Gulch," Flowers answered happily.


End file.
